


i'd trade all my tomorrows (for just one yesterday)

by WinterSabbath



Series: Frostiron Bingo 2019 [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Curses, Dark Fantasy, Fluff, Loki (Marvel) Feels, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Pain, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 08:09:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20336884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterSabbath/pseuds/WinterSabbath
Summary: When Anthony was born, a rival of his father’s had put a curse upon him: anyone he falls in love with is destined to die.Upon finding this out after his parents’ death, Anthony goes on a journey to search for a mage that would break the curse.That’s when he meets Loki.





	i'd trade all my tomorrows (for just one yesterday)

**Author's Note:**

> square O2: dark fantasy

“We will be back before Tyr’s day, I will appreciate it if our house has not been burned to the ground by then,” Howard said, straightening his own clothes.

Anthony nodded, shuffling his feet as the servants came in to pick up his parents’ belongings. “Always a pleasure to come home to you leaving,” he smiled sarcastically, looking at his mother, “Where are you headed?”

“Your father is taking us to Alfheim for a little vacation,” Maria replied.

Anthony snorted. “After a stop in the palace, sucking up to the King, right?”

“Anthony...” Maria sighed.

Not that he cared. He walked over to the doorway and peered at the horse that was waiting outside. “You will love it, I am sure. Have fun, mother. Father.”

“Three centuries old and still rude.” Howard shook his head and walked past Anthony as though Anthony wasn’t his _son_. Anthony’s experienced it enough times that he was past the point of being offended, really.

Maria wasn’t past that point, though. She gave Anthony a small smile and patted his head. “He still loves you, okay?”

Anthony did not reply. He gave a curt nod as his mother and father entered the carriage, knowing they would come back in a few days. He had his workshop to keep him preoccupied in the meantime.

And like a cruel joke from the Norns themselves, they never come back. Anthony opens his door to the face of a messenger and a letter written by the King of Asgard himself giving his condolences. Not that condolences would change anything.

Being attacked by scavengers seemed to be such a poor death, it almost made Anthony laugh had it not been for the fact that the mansion he grew up in was empty... and would forever remain that way.

He had slammed the door in the messenger’s face and ran up the stairs to his parents quarters, angrily hauling the comforters out of the way and flinging the pillows to the window. He did not destroy anything—he _couldn’t_. His mother was gone. Dead.

He cried. Grieved. Locked himself up in the mansion for the next year—got rid of the servants and anyone who lived in it. He was alone for the entire decade. It was him and his inventions.

Until he found Howard’s journal.

Anthony had been in the middle of rummaging through his parents’ things in search for a certain book when he had found his father’s journal. Anthony was a curious Aesir, after all, so how could he deny the chance to look at it.

Most of it were about Howard’s inventions but one stuck out. It was dated on Anthony’s birth.

‘_He has been cursed_’ was poorly scribbled underneath Anthony’s name. He swallowed. What did this mean? How was he cursed? Had his father angered someone? That would be likely. But, most importantly, what was the curse?

Further skimming through the journal yielded no answers and after a week of searching through the entire manor, Anthony realized he was not going to find any answers staying home. He had to go out and search for a mage to answer his questions for him. But... Asgard frowned upon mages (although he did not understand why) so he would have to go to a different realm to gain answers.

Vanaheim. Land of magic.

That day, Anthony packed everything he needed and prepared for a trip to Vanaheim. Finding a mage would surely not be difficult but he knew that whatever this curse was... if it was not yet broken then he would need a _powerful _mage to fix it.

\--- --- ---

_Lyesmith,_ they called him. It was not the most reassuring of titles but Anthony supposed if ten people had assured him that Lyesmith was the best of the best... well, it wasn’t like he knew any better than them.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Anthony bowed to the Vanir who gave him directions as to where he could find this Lyesmith. He handed the Vanir some coins in gratitude.

“You must know, though—he does not like visitors,” the Vanir warned him, taking the coins.

Anthony shrugged; that’s what the ten Vanir prior had told him as well. “But he is powerful, yes?”

“One of the best,” confirmed the Vanir.

That was all Anthony needed.

He went on his way. It was a three day walk to the Lyesmith’s location in the middle of the forest. It took so long that Anthony had begun to think the Vanir had lied to him. Fortunately, a rocky pathway led to a small house that was the exact coordinates of the Lyesmith’s location.

“Thank the Norns,” Anthony breathed out, picking up his pace as he neared.

He gave the door a loud knock.

It opened after a moment and Anthony came face to face with a man much taller than he. “What?” said the man, a glare in his eyes. He faltered. “You are Aesir.”

“I am. Are you Lyesmith?”

The man looked around as if to check if Anthony had anyone along. Then he sighed. “What do you need? Herbs? Books? My apologies, I do not give things away.”

He was halfway through slamming the door in Anthony’s face but Anthony put his foot forward to stop the door. He bit back the pain and poked his face in. “I do not need things from you. I have a curse.”

Lyesmith scoffed, still pushing the door. “Does it look like I provide free service?”

Of course. Anthony scrambled for something to bargain with. A service for a service. “I can... I can build something for you.”

Lyesmith raised his eyebrows. “What exactly would this entail?”

“I build weapons for Asgard,” Anthony offered meekly.

“Your name?”

“Anthony.”

After a moment’s consideration the Lyesmith clenched his jaw and opened the door wider. “I suppose I need a new set of daggers.”

Anthony’s chest felt much lighter when Lyesmith allowed him to walk inside. “Thank you, sir, thank you so much. This is very much appreciated.”

Lyesmith conjured two glasses of water by magic and Anthony felt himself being pushed unceremoniously onto a chair. “What is this curse, exactly?”

Anthony sheepishly scratched the back of his neck and tapped his finger on the glass. “I was hoping that you could tell me...”

“Pardon?”

“My parents knew what the curse was but they have died before I even found out the curse existed so I haven’t a clue what the curse is,” Anthony admitted. He looked at the mage with hope, wishing he could do something about it.

Lyesmith pursed his lips and walked over to Anthony, putting a hand on his arm. “I expect two inventions for this. This is extra work.”

“Anything, sir.”

“Please do not call me that,” he snapped, “Now, cease talking. I must inspect you.”

Anthony frowned. “What should I call you then?”

Lyesmith closed his eyes. “Lyesmith is fine. Did you not hear what I said about being quiet?”

“But that isn’t your real name.”

“Do you wish the curse gone or not?”

Pouting, Anthony sank further back into the chair and let the mage do his job. They were both quiet for a long while before Lyesmith’s eyes flew open and he jerked back as though Anthony had just stung him.

“You were cursed,” Lyesmith gasped, holding his hand.

Anthony tilted his head in confusion. “That is what I have been saying since—”

“No, no, you do not understand. This curse... had you been brought to a mage as a babe it would have been easy to break but now... you are too old... it is too strong,” Lyesmith whispered, giving Anthony a wary look. “I do not think I can break this, Anthony. It is not a curse that will affect your life too much, perhaps you can—"

“Wait, what is the curse?” Anthony stood, brows furrowed.

“You cannot fall in love,” Lyesmith murmured. Then he shook his head, correcting himself. “No, you _can _fall in love, but whoever it is you love will slowly perish.”

“What?” Anthony breathed out, stumbling back. “That is terribly cruel...”

It was not as though he fell in love a lot. Considering no lover of him has ever died yet... well, he clearly had never fallen in love yet. It would not have bothered him much had he spent the rest of his life without a partner—he cared not so long as his inventions stood by him. But... the mere thought of having that _choice _stripped away from him was the torment of this curse.

“I cannot break this...”

Anthony stilled. “No, please, I need your help,” he pleaded, “Lyesmith, sir, please. Surely you can find a way to break the curse with some studying. I’ll give you anything you want in exchange, please. You are the best mage in Vanaheim, if you cannot figure this out then no one else can. Please.”

Lyesmith looked away. “I cannot assure you anything.”

“But you can try?” Anthony asked hopefully.

The look Lyesmith gave him was not at all reassuring but he nodded. “I will try.”

\--- --- ---

Anthony was given a room with nothing but a bed and a closet. It was by far the cleanest place in the whole house, he soon learned.

During supper, he figured he would be spending a long time here so decided to make conversation with the mage across him. “How long have you been practicing magic?”

“Since I was born,” Lyesmith responded stiffly.

_Eloquent_, Anthony thought. He didn’t let such an absent response deter him, though. “That’s nice. I have always been interested but Asgard does not exactly—”

Lyesmith slammed his bowl down, making Anthony jump in his seat. “Do _not _speak of Asgard in this house.”

Anthony swallowed his nerves down. “Apologies.” He didn’t understand what the mage had against Asgard, though. The Vanir and Aesir were not exactly enemies. They did not see eye to eye with plenty of things but they did not exactly _hate _one another.

Anthony did not push.

The next conversation they had was during one of the sessions Lyesmith was inspecting the curse on Anthony. That only involved a hand on Anthony’s arm and him needing to keep still.

He could not be quiet for long, though.

“Why do you not tell me your name?” he asked, bouncing his leg.

Lyesmith twitched. “Names hold meaning.”

“You know mine.”

“Do you need to break a curse on me?”

“Well, no.”

“Then you do not need to know my name.”

Anthony huffed at that then wiggled a bit. He clenched his jaw to keep from snapping at the mage’s rudeness. “Why are you so cold?”

“A lifetime of loneliness does that to someone,” Lyesmith answered absentmindedly. For a split second, his face broke into a frown but he hurriedly straightened himself.

Had Anthony been a better Aesir, he’d have kept quiet after that. It was a clear signal from Lyesmith that this was not a topic to be dwelled upon. As clear as this was to Anthony, though, he pressed on. “What do you mean?”

Lyesmith gave him a sideward glance, annoyed. “You are aware that I do not owe you my life’s story, yes?”

“Figured that out myself, actually.” Anthony leaned forward, nudging Lyesmith’s thigh with his foot. “It is quite alright. I understand, somehow.”

“Why?” Lyesmith snorted. “Because you once were not invited to a party by your friends?” 

“Never had any friends, actually. None that have stuck around for long. That was not what I was referring too, though,” said Anthony. As he spoke, he realized this was to be the first time he ever addressed the death of his family out loud. He never spoke of it to anyone. “My parents died, a decade ago. Have not spoken much to anyone since,” he paused, then added, “Until I came to Vanaheim, that is.”

Lyesmith regarded him before looking back down at Anthony’s arm. “It explains why your chattering does not end.”

Anthony made a confused noise. “Shall you not offer apologies?”

Lyesmith hummed. “Do you wish for me to feel sorry for you, Anthony?”

He thought about it for a moment. _Did _he? No, of course not. It was the entire reason he did not want to talk to anyone, he did not want to see their pity or hear their false sentiments. He shook his head. “No.”

“Well, it is fortunate that I do not,” Lyesmith smiled. It was still cold but Anthony relished it. It was still a smile, at least.

“So...” Anthony trailed off, looking at his companion expectantly.

As though he were truly dense, Lyesmith feigned confusion. “What?”

“What about you? What makes you lonely?”

“I told you—”

Anthony was beginning to think Lyesmith was only holding his arm as a distraction, not because he was actually doing something. “And yet you had been the one to say you spent a lifetime being lonely. Something tells me you are in need of someone to listen and understand you.”

Lyesmith gave a reaction between a laugh and a scoff. “And you presume that would be yourself?”

“When was the last time you talked to someone before now?”

“This morning when I was buying food in the market, actually.”

Anthony wanted to strangle this man. “Fine. We can sit here in silence for the rest of the day. It’s not as though social interaction is _essential_ to life.”

“Pot kettle, kettle pot,” Lyesmith retorted with ease. He stood up and dusted his pants. “I am a mage and I am here to help you rid of this curse. That is all you need to know about me and that is all you will know.”

“At least tell me your name,” Anthony repeated.

Lyesmith turned around and with a regretful voice, said, “Anything but that, Anthony, anything but that.”

Anthony did not push.

\--- --- ---

All things considered, Lyesmith was a lot friendlier the next morning.

“You’re chirpy,” Anthony commented but he did not reject it. In fact, this was a mood he’d rather Lyesmith be in all the time.

Lyesmith chuckled and finished the breakfast he was cooking. “It dawned on me that perhaps I could use a friend.”

“A friend who does not know your name.” Before Lyesmith could remind Anthony of _names hold power_ again, Anthony beat him to it. “It’s alright. I get it. Some things we must keep to ourselves, right? That’s fine. I’d love to be your friend.”

“You would?” Lyesmith perked up.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Lyesmith shrugged and what came out next was not as much as a surprise as it should’ve which. Which was quite sad. “I never really had... friends before.”

Anthony could sympathize with that. He nodded. “Me too. But we’re friends now, right?”

“I suppose...”

“Well, go get me some mead, friend, I have needs,” Anthony joked.

Lyesmith’s initial reaction was to frown but when he saw Anthony laugh, he slowly smiled and hit Anthony on the shoulder. “I said _friend_, not servant.”

_And_... Anthony stood up and looked back at his new friend and smiled, _he could live with this._

\--- --- ---

As friends they did dwell on the deep things from time to time. _I was bullied in my youth_, Lyesmith would tell Anthony and then Anthony would grimace and say _I wasn’t really bullied but nobody really acknowledged my presence_. Then sometimes they would talk about their family. Lyesmith never mentioned any names but he talked about them with bitter distaste. _My father never loved me_. To which Anthony would agree to. _Mine too. He only ever wanted to use me as heir to the business_.

Other times, their conversations were a bit more lighthearted.

Lyesmith would tease Anthony about his incapability of sitting still and his ever talkative mouth that never seemed to run out of words. Sometimes he’d poke fun at Anthony’s unruly hair or odd goatee but Anthony took it with jest. He’d tease Lyesmith all the same.

And during those moments, everything was looking up.

\--- --- ---

Then two weeks later, Lyesmith’s name was revealed. As was expected, Anthony did not find out Lyesmith’s name through Lyesmith himself. Not that Anthony meant to go through Lyesmith’s mail. It was just... Lyesmith had gone out to the market and Anthony thought to make himself useful around the house and sort the mails. He assumed that after two weeks of sharing a house and labelling themselves as _friends_, there was some trust between them at least.

But as Anthony rummaged through the mail, a neatly folded brown envelope with the insignia of Asgard’s palace caught his eye. He was not aware that a Vanir, much less Lyesmith (who had expressed extreme distaste for Asgard), received letters from Asgard’s _palace_.

It was safe to say that when Anthony’s eyes drifted over to who it was addressed to, he knocked over the glass of water on the table had was standing over.

“Anthony?” asked Lyesmith—no, not _Lyesmith_. He probably just got home.

Anthony closed his eyes for a few seconds before turning around and lifting the letter. “You...”

Prince _Loki_ of Asgard parted his mouth as he stared at the envelope Anthony held in his hands. Anthony did not even give him time to say anything. He rushed out, “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well, I am not,” Loki replied. He was trying to pull of nonchalance but it was clear he was tense. “Why were you going through my things?”

“I wanted to sort them out for you,” Anthony said when he found his voice. It took a lot of effort to keep his jaw from dropping to the floor. “That’s why you did not want me to know your name...” he whispered, “Names hold power.”

“You cannot tell of this to anyone.” It was not a direct threat but Anthony understood.

“Why would you not want to—oh.” He had first been confused as to why Loki would give up his royal status to live here but... it made sense, did it not? Loki was an extremely powerful mage and mages were _shunned _on Asgard. Unlike on Vanir where they prized seidr, the Aesir would make a mockery of a Prince of Asgard who practiced magic.

And, as Anthony thought about it, _they_ _have_.

Back when Prince Loki was, well, alive, the Aesir would constantly ridicule him behind closed doors. They would put up a pretense of respect because he was a _prince_ but the mockery was there.

“I was hesitant enough to work on such a complex curse but to work with an Aesir—.” Loki clicked his tongue, walking forward. “—it was a torment.”

“You said we were friends.”

“I did.”

“Then what are you whining about?”

“You are _Aesir_,” Loki hissed.

Anthony gaped at him. “So are you!”

“_Since when?!_” Loki bellowed when he finally snapped, slamming his fist on the table so hard that the wood cracked. “I am Jotun by blood, Vanir by skill. Nothing in me is of Asgard!”

“You grew up there. You were raised there. Why do you deny this so?”

“The last piece left of me on Asgard was my mother,” Loki growled, eyes flashing dangerously. “And you know what happened to her.”

_Murdered by Dark Elves_. Everyone on Asgard knew that. Anthony took a step forward and they were _so close to each other_. “You should know better to judge one man by their race, my Prince.”

“Do not call me that,” Loki snapped. He stepped away from the table and Anthony, snatching the letter from Anthony’s hand. “This conversation is over.”

“Seems like you still have some royal arrogance left in you. Are you sure you have severed all ties with Asgard?” Anthony spat back, fueled by anger.

Loki did not reply, choosing instead to storm away and go up to his quarters. Anthony was partially grateful. If Loki had stayed any longer, things were bound to get dirtier than they already were.

\--- --- ---

It was during supper, Anthony finally calmed down and realized how rude he had been. Not because Loki was prince—he didn’t really care about superiority of status—but because Loki had been hurting and _lonely_ and instead of listening, Anthony had snapped at him.

Well, Loki had his faults in that conversation too but Anthony should not have been so careless.

Which is why he decided tonight he would cook as an apology. With his extremely limited cooking skills, Anthony whipped a decent supper for the both of them and picked a few flowers for Loki. He then called him for dinner.

Loki’s face was piqued with curiosity when he came downstairs, a book in his hand. Anthony hoped the mage had not given up on his research about the curse placed upon him.

“I made us supper,” Anthony grinned.

“I see...” Loki murmured, “And why...?”

Anthony shrugged, ushering Loki to a seat. “I’m sorry. For earlier, I should not have snapped at you like that... I do not really know what you have been through. This is an... apology gift.”

Loki nodded slowly and he seemed to hesitate before saying, “I apologize as well.” It sounded odd coming from him but Anthony mumbled his thanks anyway.

To dissipate the awkward tension, Anthony clapped his hands and sat across Loki. “Dig in! A meal from Chef Anthony himself,” he smirked.

“Should I be wary of being poisoned?” Loki teased lightly, reaching over to put rice on his plate.

“Excuse me,” Anthony said with mock offense, “I’ll have you know I am an award winning chef.”

“Oh, is that so?” Loki smiled.

Anthony’s heart fluttered at the smile Loki gave him and before he could even bite back a snide remark, Loki dropped the spoon in his hand and put both hands on his heart, shaking.

He collapsed to the floor and let out heavy breaths and it was as though he was choking. Anthony stood up quickly and rushed over to his side, panic flooding his face. “Loki! What—what’s happening? Are you—Norns, I—”

“It’s... it’s nothing,” Loki choked out, gasping in a sharp breath.

“That does not sound like _nothing_,” Anthony said worriedly, running his hands all over Loki trying to find a solution.

“It’s not—” Loki grimaced and then a he pressed his hand firmly over his chest, steadying his breathing. “Just... it’s okay. We have time.”

“_What do you mean?_” Anthony screeched.

And as if Anthony’s panic wasn’t making his heart beat fast enough already, Loki forced himself upright and pressed his lips to Anthony. As their lips made contact, Anthony’s eyes widened as the realization washed over him.

_He’d fallen in love with Loki._

_No._

_No, no, no._

He made a noise of protest and Loki let go, cupping his face. “Anthony.”

Anthony shook his head, grasping Loki’s wrist. Tears were threatening to fall. “No, no, this is my fault. No, please, no. Tell me you’ve found a cure, please.”

“I have three days, my Anthony. We have time.”

Anthony shook Loki in his grasp. “That does not sound like time!”

“I have loved you since that night you told me of your childhood,” Loki whispered, wiping the tears out of Anthony’s face. “You love me back now, and I am incredibly happy. This is in no way your fault, Anthony.”

“You’re going to die, how are you _happy?_”

“I am,” Loki said softly, “I have not found a cure yet but I have three days. And if this will be my last, at least it is by the side of my lover.”

“Loki...” Anthony whimpered, “No...”

“Three days, Anthony. Three days together as lovers.”

“Promise me you’ll find a cure,” Anthony cried, weakly punching Loki’s chest as Loki pulled him close, “You can’t die because of _me_.”

“In three days’ time we shall see, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> this fic can go two ways: either i leave it like this and leave it up to you to decide how it ends for them OR (if i dont get lazy) ill write what happens in the next three days but i cant assure that there wont be any MCD.


End file.
